


Nightingale Sings

by ClassicKaze (Kazewrites)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1930s, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Drinking, F/M, Fanfiction, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), Female Presenting Aziraphale, Ineffable Event (Good Omens), Ineffable Event 2019 (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Partners, POV First Person, Period Piece, Romance, Singing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 09:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21177503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kazewrites/pseuds/ClassicKaze
Summary: Crowley stumbles into a seedy bar to find something he didn't expect. A beautiful singer with the voice of an angel.





	Nightingale Sings

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea for years but never did anything with it. Decided Crowley and Aziraphale worked for it.
> 
> I'm posting via my phone so I'll fix the tags later but this is an AU, Aziraphale is presented as female. Takes place in like 1930s Soho.
> 
> For day 5 of the Ineffable Event. Prompt: A Nightingale Sings. It will be at least another chapter. Unbeta'd.

The bright flashing neon lit up the street only enough to see the next dark alley creeping up. Half the street lamps didn't work and the other half only a faint soft glow, barely enough to reflect the puddles staining the sidewalk. I dodged another one, cursing under my breath, my shoes probably ruined.

Hiking up my collar, I did a quick two way look before crossing. No idea why, Soho was a ghost town, only residences by sides myself daring the cool night were several ladies of the evening and a few panhandlers. I'd tossed a few coins into Red Larry’s cup as I passed; my thanks a tiny nod from under his dirty cowboy hat.

Soho sat on the outskirts of the old London district. Back in its heyday every major club, casino, dance hall, bar called Soho home; the elite’s personal playground. Sadly after the war money grew tight, the district faltered, the flair of neon lights faded into black. After a few failed attempts to bring it back most investors.

Now only a handful of dive bars and seedy nightclubs sat in between the bordered up buildings and the dimly lit alleys where ladiea of the night promised, for the right price, to make dreams come true.

Ignoring their calls I crossed over heading under the flashing neon. Passing a rundown theater, the old marquee with only half of the lights lit read,

_Nightingale Sings_

The propped OPEN sign leaning against the glass of the box office beckoned me as did the dull sound of soft jazz floating out of the broken windows.

Shrugging, I pulled the brim of my hat down and sauntered in. The scent of cigarettes and cheap whiskey hit me as I entered. The smoke hung low like clouds around the few patrons. The bartender gave me a nod as he wiped the beer glass in his hand with a dirty rag. 

I took a seat in a chair at a table, drink rings dotting the wood, probably hadn't been properly cleaned ever. The band on the stage, continued the soft soulful melody they played. Propping my shoes on an adjacent chair I signaled the lone waitress.

"What'll it be, sweet heart?" She asked in a flapper dress chopping on gum. 

"Scotch. Neat." I replied.

A minute later she returned setting my drink down. I tossed a few bucks onto the table.

"You always wear sunglasses indoors?" She asked bending farther forward than needed as she retrieved the money.

"Yep." I said before taking a swig. My face contorted, was that scotch or motor oil?

The waitress left thank Satan. The band finished their number to scant applause. Crossing my arms, I leaned back in the chair as it whined.

The stage lights went down, the smoke hanging in the air suddenly disappeared. A moment later the spotlight illuminated the microphone.

The drummer started softly tapping the snare drum, the bassist joining. The long red velvet curtain slowly pulled back.

Immediately I sat forward in the chair, the force causing my glasses to slip.

Strolling out from behind the curtain an angel appeared wearing a sparkling cream dress. Her hair of short curls accented with white feathers and a touch of lace accented her dress that hugged her curvy frame.

Slowly her fine hand reached for the microphone stand grasping it gently. My mouth watered in anticipation of hearing her voice.

A sweet sigh of an inhale gave way to a sweet sultry voice, I understood why she called herself Nightingale. I felt her song deep within my heart filling the void that had developed years ago.

The spotlight shined like a halo encircling her head as she sung sweetly for the nearly empty club. To her it must have been as if she was singing at Albert Hall for hundreds of fans.

As the song ended, I became aware that I had not blinked since she appeared on stage and my mouth was dry from being open the entire time. She gave a faint bow, I jumped up applauding her performance. For a split second her blue eyes met my gaze. A slight smile twitched her lips before strutting back behind the curtain.

Taking the scotch glass in my hand I downed the rest of the alcohol letting out a grunt as the liquid burned my throat. "Another." I called out to the waitress.

I grabbed the glass from her shooting it back. I distinctly remember hearing a chuckle as she walked away. Not that I could blame her.

I sat in the dark of the club as house band played another set, my eyes continuously spying the side entrance to the stage, hoping Nightingale would appear.

TBC


End file.
